


Golden Thorns

by ArtemisDiana



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Blood, F/F, F/M, Horror, PLEASE TAKE THE WARNINGS SERIOUSLY OMG, in the manner of everyone's under Rose's control and she sleeps with them, non-con sex, sorry kids, very weird Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisDiana/pseuds/ArtemisDiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's not human, not really... Hasn't been for a long time, to be quite honest, but she loves what the TARDIS can give her, and she'll take every advantage she can get.</p><p>(Story is not posted in chronological order right now)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Be Bred

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ!!!!  
> If you are squicked by:  
> -Blood  
> -Murder  
> -Sex while brainwashed  
> THIS MAY NOT BE FOR YOU

     He comes out into her garden reverently, slowly weaving his way through the towering rows and hedges of brilliant blooms, making his way to the center, to her. She’s waiting there for him, just as she always is, bare feet and hands covered in dirt and dust, ankles and wrists stained green from sap, and she is a vision of beauty before him. Her roses are setting seed all around them, heads hanging heavy and ripe on the vines, and in turn, her breasts are lush and full, her belly soft, her hips curved wide to signal that she is coming fertile as well. Want sparks low and hot in his stomach, but he knows that all of the control is in her hands, even two regenerations and three hundred years in, and even after bringing her everyone she’d ever asked for. He doesn’t mind, though. Everything is as it should be and he is content.

     She smiles at him as he toes off his shoes, shedding his layers until he’s as naked as she is, and the Tardis gives a pleased rumble around them as he scuffs his feet in the soil. Shivers skitter across his arms as she gently takes his hands and leads him towards the lone patch of apple-grass in her garden, sheltered by the oldest of the over-arching rose canes. The roses are rustling and whispering in anticipation around them, waiting impatiently to see if she’ll finally set seed of her own, and he can’t quite tamp down the thrill that shoots through him at the thought. Her answering smile is as dark and rich as the soil around them, full of promises and temptations, and he wonders if this will finally be the end of him as well.

 

     She is slick and hot and perfect, wrapped tight around him like she’ll never let him go, and she is salt-sweet underneath his tongue as he bites down hard on her shoulder, licking away the milky blood that pools at the surface over the broken skin. Her nails are scoring deeply into his back, sap burning sharply in the new furrows that she is carving into him, slicing across already healed scars, but the tension in his stomach only ratchets tighter as the roses murmur greedily with each drop of his blood that falls to the grass, vines writhing forward to steal it from the soil.  He has to clench his eyes shut against the brilliant glow of her skin as she races towards the precipice, golden tendrils wrapping around and through him, tying him even closer to her, and he holds her tightly even as she shatters beneath him, Valkyrie shriek of ecstasy ringing through the garden. He rocks into her slowly as she pants, waiting patiently for her to dislodge her nails from where they’re buried in his back, and for her to tell him whether she wants him to finish with her or whether she wants him to spill for the roses like she usually has him. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s had him bring her to orgasm , then leave him to the not so tender mercies of her roses as she watched, but he enjoys tracing his fingers over the new scars afterwards. The roses have equal taste for blood and seed both, and he’s never finished until she decides that he’s wrung completely dry. Every full rosehip hanging low around them is his, and if he is very, very lucky, her belly might begin to swell with his child soon as well.

     There’s a slow stretch beneath him, golden eyes soft and hooded, sleepy smile stretched across her face as she digs her nails deeper into his back, and he groans as his muscles spasm, hips driving him deeper into her, splitting her open around him. She works him closer to his own orgasm this way, controlling his  his movements through his own nerve endings and muscles, and he turns his attention to her breasts in and effort to reciprocate what he can. He licks sticky-sweet sap from his lips as he shudders, shifting from one breast to the other and back again, laving her nipples until they’re peaked and flushed, smiling down as she sighs against him. She’s tightening around him again, coming close for a second time, and he takes advantage as her hands relax in his back, his thrusts speeding up until she’s crying out beneath him, and he can hear it echoed all around them by the roses. The Tardis is echoing his own cries as he works closer and closer to his own peak, and he has to shut his eyes against her shine once more. He shoves in as deep as he can, biting down over the mark that he’d already left as he tipped over the edge, mind unraveling as she takes everything he has to give and more, shaking through her own orgasm, nails grinding against his bones. He can hear the roses gasping and twittering as they panted, new growth already flourishing, pushing through the tops of the hedges. She would be pleased, though it also meant that he would need a new sacrifice to feed to quickly growing shoots. That was alright. Amy was still on board, after all, and she was still asking what had happened to Rory.

-

     When all is done and finished, and he has left her sanctuary, she runs her hands delicately through the still tacky blood coating her stomach and smiles softly, the roses giggling around her. There would be a new generation soon, and her line would continue, as all things should.


	2. Success

     The Tardis has been welcoming to her, rich soil warm beneath the roots of her roses, watered and fed well and just as she had requested. She knows that the Doctor is finally realizing that something isn’t quite right in her garden, that the ‘fertilizer’ that Mickey brings in whenever they stop by the Estate isn’t exactly legal, and she also knows that she needs to do something about him soon, or risk losing access to the greatest gift she’s ever found. She doesn’t know if what she is can affect him like she can the humans, and he still has one or two pesky morals ingrained in his skin that haven’t been stripped away yet, so she can’t afford to assume that he’ll come along with her anyways. Thankfully for her, the Tardis is on her side, and Rose quietly makes sure that she has a supply of sap that can be laced into the food that they eat, slowly building up the levels in his body until she can feel it seeping through his muscles, soaking into his skin.

     Then comes the morning that he looks at her from across the counter, and gold is flashing at her from the depths of his eyes.

     She smiles.


	3. First Blood

     Mickey’s known of Rose Tyler for years, gone to public school with her, lived just down the way from her estate since he was old enough to toddle along the walk. There’s always been something off about her, something that sets off a quiet alarm in the back of his mind, but when he tries to focus on it, bring it forward, he always… slips slightly sideways, and his train of thought is lost. He likes her, he thinks, and he comes round to her new flat as often as he can, bringing by foil-wrapped packages of chips and fish, hoping she’ll let him spend more time with her, but she only sometimes allows him in.

     He swears that he can hear other people whispering behind her on the days she doesn’t want his company, but they don’t sound like Jackie, and no one else ever comes over, otherwise the whole Estate’d know. They didn’t even sound overly male or female, but when he tried to think about them after he left, they turned into just one more thing that slid his brain just slightly to the side until he didn’t anymore.

     He thinks he’s made a huge step with her the day that Rose gives him a cutting from her windowsill, oblivious to the golden glow deep within her eyes, or the tendrils beginning to creep round his feet from the vines on the patio, too entranced with the innocently blushing bloom in his hand. Rose merely smiles quietly, carefully, and doesn’t let him see her prick his other wrist with her nail, doesn’t let him see the single drop of sap seep into his bloodstream.

     He is hers.


	4. Family Ties

     No one can pinpoint exactly when Jackie Tyler moved into the Estate, with her little girl standing quietly behind her, tiny fingers wrapped in her mum’s belt loops as golden brown eyes stared out at the world. She’d just… Always been there, would always be there, welcoming the new tenants and seeing out the old ones. The only change was Rose Tyler growing older, a slow letting out of hems and newly bony wrists, blonde hair growing ever longer in a cascade over her shoulders. The other children don’t like playing with her much, though, her smiles are too knowing, too sharp, and she makes them uncomfortable without really even trying.

     Jackie always said she named her daughter after the roses that had grown wild in the garden at their last place, though she’d never quite said where that was, no matter how many times she was asked. She’d gone on about how beautiful they’d been, all pink and yellow and perfectly lovely, and didn’t she just wish she had some to grow here now? She didn’t miss their thorns, though. Nasty buggers, they were, always seeming to aim directly for a vein. Rose had a good scar on the inside of one of her wrists from one, Jackie had complained, and it was always bright red, like it hadn’t quite finished healing yet, much to the dismay of the other mothers, but there was nothing to be done for it.

     No one says anything out loud when Rose moves into her own apartment in the Estate, leaving Jackie to her string of boyfriends, but she is well aware of the gossip lines. Jackie used to be the head of them, after all. Before too long, there are pink and yellow roses spilling out of her windows, growing lush on her balcony, and she just smiles secretively, eyes flashing subtly gold, when anyone asks why they grow so well.


	5. It Is Time

     Rory stands in the doorway of the room he’s found, what he had thought was the pool room, eyes wide as he takes in the horrifying perfect-ness of it. The rest of the Tardis is as chaotic as the mind of the Doctor himself, but this lone, single room? Everything is in precise order, perfectly organized, the bed looking freshly made, and there’s a clean, neatly folded outfit sitting at the foot of the bed, like it’s waiting for someone. The bedspread is the same dusty rose that coats the walls, the bed-skirt and curtains over the closet are a shade darker, and Rory has a sick, sinking feeling that he knows exactly who’s room this used to be.

     'She's found you, then.'

     He wheels around with a sharp cry, plastering himself against the wall as his heart thunders in his chest, only to find the Doctor staring placidly back at him. Rory can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

     'I was just - the pool - it used to -'

     'Oh, I know. Changes things around all the time, She does. Doesn't usually show this one, though, not without a very good reason. So. Rory Williams. What makes you so special that the Tardis would show you Rose Tyler's room?'

     There’s an emptiness to the Doctor now that might just be scaring Rory more than the room is, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. For a split second, he could swear he hears a giggle from inside the room, but it’s gone so quickly that he’s not sure it actually happened.

     'I keep seeing her in the screens, watching you. I thought I was going spare, because Amy didn't see her, but when I asked her her name, she answered me.'

     He looks back up at the Doctor, and the emptiness is gone, but in its place is a hunger so dark and so deep that Rory can’t move, and his mouth dries up so quickly that he chokes. He tries to scramble backwards, only to trip over the sill and slice open his heel, leaving a dragging trail of blood as he frantically scoots away from the Doctor. The lights in the hallway are going dark one by one, until the only light left is the bedside lamp, and Rory swears that the Doctor’s eyes are glowing in the half-light as he kneels in the doorway, all awkwardness gone as he trails his fingers through Rory’s blood, bringing them up to his mouth to be licked clean as the door swings shut behind him. Rory can hear that giggle again, but when he turns to look, he still doesn’t see anyone else, though he gets an impression of moonlight on golden hair and a pink tongue caught between bloodied teeth. There’s a breath against his cheek and he whips back around, cracking his shoulder against the bedside table as he jerks, only to find the doctor’s face directly in front of his own. Oh God, Rory hadn’t even heard him move!

     'She's not watching me from the screens, Rory Williams. She's helping me watch you.'

     The lamp goes out, and the Doctor’s eyes glow with golden fire in the dark.


End file.
